


Something Has To Give, And It Always Does.

by Velocity_Owl87



Series: The Soldier and the Captain [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cold War, Cold Weather, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escape, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Nostalgia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are in Ystad, waiting. Waiting for Bucky's memories to come back, for them to stop being hunted and for the signal to come back. </p><p>Their waiting isn't rewarded, necessating a side trip to Tallinn and an awakening that although unexpected, is not necessarily unwanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Has To Give, And It Always Does.

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of sequel to "You Wanted History. It's A Mystery." But not necessary to read to follow along. This is more of a contained universe story, which focuses on two former best friends getting that relationship back despite the circumstances. 
> 
> Also will admit that Sebastian Stan and his Bucky have been directly responsible for this, since he brought Bucky to life.
> 
> Proofed and edited, but if there are errors, they will be fixed.
> 
> Title is from Editor's "Bullets"

Steve looked out the window into the desolate landscape of Skane and his fingers itched for his art supplies. Despite it being so empty and cold, it was a beautiful landscape and he wanted to try and draw it. Maybe if Bucky was asleep, he'd try and get some sketches done.

But if Bucky had nightmares, then that was not going to happen. He sighed and rubbed his gritty eyes with a knuckle and went to the coffee maker. He was pushing it, even with the serum. He had barely slept in the last couple of days. Bucky's nightmares and regressions to the brainwashed fugue had not let up since they had started a couple of weeks ago, a surprise for both of them.

He had been in touch with Natasha, who had been funnelling money, supplies and information as she was able. She was out there deflecting searches for them and keeping the slight of hand going so deftly that they were looking in the different continent for them. No one would suspect that they were holed up in a country that had front row seats to the Cold War and Soviet dealings. No one expected the beacon of America and the Soviet's answer to be there. And that bought them time and Steve hoped that it would be enough to get Bucky remembering enough and his programming broken or subdued enough for him to return to Brooklyn and rebuild the life that they used to have.

Or if not rebuilding, to try and start over again and build something new together.

He sighed and poured out a cup of coffee, fixed it up with sugar and milk (a luxury that he still hadn't gotten over having, if he was quite honest. The rationing was a thing that was relegated to the history books, he had learned. But it was still a spectre behind his shoulder) and took a long swallow while staring out the window.

Steve didn't really like Ystad as much as he should have, despite admiring the view and wanting to commit it down to paper. It wasn't because it wasn't pretty. Or that the few neighbours they had were a little too friendly for their own good. No.

It was just the cold and the Baltic that lapped up the coast in dark, desolate grey waves that reminded him all too well of the Arctic ice that he had been under for seventy years. He wasn't one to be sunk into self-pity and despair, but the past couple of weeks were making him wonder if he had been too optimistic to think that maybe, just maybe that glimmer of understanding that they could build on and work from there.

He tried to hide it though, because Bucky was painfully aware of all that was around him. He had been an expert sniper for that particular reason. So he tried to not let his doubts and his pessimism colour his actions whenever Bucky was awake and aware. It was hiding a weakness, because all predators could sniff them out if given enough time. He hated that he thought of Bucky as a predator in this instance, but he also knew that despite longing for his best friend to come back, he couldn't afford to be naive. Bucky had been trained as a killer and he had dealt with enough of them since the war and since he had woken up to know that was the last type of instinct to be extinguished.

He may have known Bucky for his entire life, but he wasn't wilfully blind to the dangers that the Winter Soldier presented. Bucky was getting control of himself more often than not, but when the fugues started, Steve knew that the Winter Soldier was in charge and what his main objective was. It hurt, to have to subdue the man that stood behind him through thick and thin, but if he died, Bucky's redemption would never come.

Or worse, he'd be no better than a penned animal. Or a leashed dog released to do his master's bidding no matter what the toll would be. No. He couldn't do that to Bucky. Not when he had been in little better conditions for seventy years.

He hoped, from the files that he had gotten, that the wash of the programming would get sluiced away now that Bucky was out of their clutches. He hadn't been wiped clean like he always was after a mission, so there was hope that the Winter Soldier was fading faster. Steve had seen enough sings of it to corroborate his hypothesis. He only hoped that he would be given enough time to actually see it happen.

Natasha had told him that she was doing her best, but three months could be the limit. Another month could be bought at a high price and five to six months would be a dream. They had to do it fast. Steve tore his gaze from the window and looked at the calendar someone had thoughtfully pinned up on the wall.

Twenty days had passed. There had been a quarter of improvement. It was a start, he told himself, drinking down more of the coffee. It was a start.

When he heard the crash and the incoherent shouting in Russian, he simply put the cup down into the sink and went to the bedroom that Bucky had claimed as his own. It was the one in the back of the house, with one medium window high up on the wall that Steve thought was an odd place for. But after having Bucky lash out and break the heavy wardrobe, he was glad that he didn't have to worry about Bucky breaking the window and making a run for it due to its placement and the steel bars that had been welded to the frame somewhere after its construction.

He had been expecting more damage than what he found when he entered the room. He found Bucky sitting in the far corner, both arms hugging his knees as he shivered periodically. The lamp (the second one that he had found to replace the original one after Bucky had hurled it at his head) was in pieces all over the floor, mixed with pieces of the nightstand. As far as destruction went, it was minimal.

“Nightmare.” Bucky rasped out, reaching up to push his hair out of his face and look at Steve with those cracked blue eyes that never failed to make Steve's heart clench just a bit. He still couldn't decide if it was worse than seeing those eyes blank and dead, or full of bewilderment and pain. It was always a blow coming out of nowhere and he hadn't learned how to react to the emotions that the sight of Bucky's eyes. The memories of those eyes sparkling with a range of emotions from joy, disappointment, sadness and love superimposed upon the pale deadness of his face in the present always shook him up. He hated it, what they had done to him and how much he was struggling to reconcile who he was and what he had been forced to become. 

“I'll clean it up. I just-”

“No. It's okay. I can take care of it. Just stay put.”

Steve interrupted him. It wasn't that he was babying his friend. But rather, he had seen the look in his eyes whenever he was surrounded by destruction. He'd disappear into his mind when confronted with the aftermath of it and Steve always waited on tenterhooks for him to either come back from the precipice or take that final leap into the darkness. It was just easier for him to clean up rather than wonder if he was going to have a shard of glass aimed at his jugular.

Bucky's face twitched into an all too familiar expression from the days in Brooklyn when he heard Steve's orders.

“Dammit, Steve! I said I'd clean it! It was my mess in the first place, I'll clean it up! It's not like I'm an invalid or helpless!”

It was that old heat, the same old spark of resoluteness that he had seen in Bucky's eyes ever since they were old enough to understand that they had to fight back to get anywhere in the world. It was welcome and Steve couldn't back down in the face of it. Not when it was an impulse coming straight from his heart. It wasn't a learned reflex at all, and he had to admit that they had fooled him in the beginning, before learning to read them.

“Fine. I'll get the supplies.”

Bucky nodded and stood up. Slowly and with his hand on the wall to make sure he wasn't going to collapse, but he managed it. He was still there when Steve came back and tossed him the promised supplies. Bucky got to work as soon as he had caught them, methodically sweeping up all the broken shards under Steve's watchful eye.

At least until Steve came to his senses and stepped out of the room. Although he did keep an eye on Bucky, he didn't want to be overbearing to the point of supervising what was a simple task.

Even if the idea of the broomstick being a weapon did briefly cross his mind. He dismissed it, though and went into the kitchen to start breakfast. He had put it off for too long and already, his stomach was growling in abject need for more food. He got out all the supplies and started to methodically make what would be a good and hearty breakfast for both of them. He was feeling antsy and he thought that maybe the best thing to do that day would be to go out and spar. Bucky tended to pick up on his moods and this morning showed it wouldn't be a calm day. They needed to expend some energy before someone ended up on the wrong side of a gun or knife.

He was finished when Bucky came into the kitchen with a bulging garbage bag and the broom and dustpan. He nodded an acknowledgement before heading to the backdoor and shoving the garbage to the back. He came in and immediately started setting the table, both of them falling into sync as half-remembered roles took over, the table ready for them to eat like they used to in a much cramped kitchen in a smaller and danker place.

“Still can't get over this.” Bucky murmured as he poured cream into the bowl of oatmeal porridge. “This seemed like an unattainable luxury.”

“The sugar too.” Steve commented, working on making his tone and comment as unobtrusive as possible and to keep Bucky talking. It wasn't the same level as it had been, but there were less and less of those silences between them the longer that they spent together.

Bucky snorted at that and reached up to push his hair behind his ear.

“Never cared for it. So what are we doing today?”

“Sparring. We need it before we kill each other.”

Bucky's eyes darkened at that and he only made a small humming noise before nodding his head.

“They would love that, I'm sure.”

It was Steve's turn to snort.

~*~*~*~*~

Steve stood slumped against the old wood of the shed, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his breakfast down. The image of bloodstained snow wasn't helping. Neither was the sight of the neatly eviscerated bodies that he and Bucky had just taken care of in the field and had dragged into the shed behind the house. There were no forests around, so the best that they could do was dig holes and hope that they weren't discovered until they were far away from the region.

Steve shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He couldn't help it. Not when things had been moving in some fashion or other. And now, they were more or less back to square one and needing another safe house to wait things through until they blew over.

But the one saving grace, he had to admit, was that it wasn't going to be for Bucky's sake that they would need it, but rather due to await orders.

“I guess we have to move.” Bucky muttered once he returned with the large bin liners and several shovels that had been in the basement of the house. His mouth curled up sardonically as he threw one of the shovels over to Steve, who snapped out of his reverie and caught it one handed.

“Any ideas?” He asked Steve, who bit his lip and shrugged.

“I can call Nat and see if we have another safehouse under the radar. If anyone would know, she would be that person.”

Bucky nodded, his hair covering his face as he began to dig, snapping Steve into action.

“She seems trust-worthy enough.” Bucky commented. He resumed his digging, lulling Steve into a false sense of security before he decided to drop his bomb.

“I have a safe house in Tallinn. It's not much, but it's off the radar. We could make it there in a day.” He looked up and smiled tersely. “I know a couple of guys I can lean on for stuff.”

Steve swallowed, but didn't hesitate to nod.

“Do it then. This is your game more than mine at this point.”

“Not mine either. But his. Might as well use it that it's there.”

Neither man said anything else after that.

~*~*~*~*~

It really wasn't much, but it was liveable and stocked and with enough luck, it would be their home until they could be assured that Bucky wasn't going to be thrown into jail.

“That wouldn't be likely. Not if they want Captain America and the rest of the Avengers back.” Natasha had muttered as she had listened to what Steve had to say to her.

“So how much longer do you think?” Steve asked as he stood by a statue, his hand gripping the disposable mobile gingerly while Bucky pretended to act like a tourist and take pictures of the old town of Tallinn.

“Give it two weeks. They have to find you first. I'll contact you in a bit. Do you have enough supplies and cash?”

“Yeah. Bucky managed to work something out.”

Natasha snorted humorlessly. “Allright. Keep your head down and good luck.”

He said his goodbyes and hung up, walking up to Bucky as if he was interested in the picture that he had just taken.

“How much longer, then?”

“A week, give or take.”

Bucky nodded and tilted the camera towards Steve.

“Then what?”

“That remains to be seen. But you won't be crucified.”

Bucky's eyes slid from the small frame and focused on Steve's face, which was drawn with determination, the expression at odds with the softness of the words.

“I won't let them.”

Bucky swallowed and pressed the button again to show another picture.

“I know you won't.”

Steve nodded and his expression softened somewhat.

“Thank you.”

Bucky turned his head then to look at Steve fully. He had something planned, that he wanted to say after that softly spoken thanks. But nothing came to mind as he looked at Steve. The man that had simply left everything in order to help him (a killer) reconcile the man he had been (a hero) with the man that he now was (a hybrid of the two). Steve never had judged him. Nor had he once complained, despite the tribulations that his slowly healing mind brought.

He couldn't only wet his lips while Steve waited patiently.

But no words came and Steve simply smiled and shut the camera off.

“Let's find some dinner.”

~*~*~*~*

Tallinn was colder than Ystad. The flat not as well insulated and the nightmares for both of them were too damned close to the surface. The beds were too narrow and there were too many unspoken fears and ghosts between them in the long nights. Staying awake was not an option. Even with taking shifts for the first week, the tension and the speculation made them exhausted and off their game.

So that was why Steve didn't even think twice of it when he pushed the beds together one night and crawled in, leaving the blankets down in an open invitation. It was pointless for them to actually be ready to meet any threat if they were both half-asleep and prone to making mistakes. He had said as much earlier and Bucky had only shrugged and looked out the window at the street below light up here and there by ghostly street lamps.

Steve had expected for the invitation to be rebuffed and had prepared to have another night of lacklustre sleep before waking up to take a shift.

He hadn't expected for Bucky to crawl in behind him and wrap his arm around him, tucking the blankets in securely behind them.

He also didn't expect for Bucky's nose to brush the back of his neck either. But that could have been a mistakes, since he was nearly asleep.

The next night though, it was all too obvious that the small gesture wasn't a mistake.

He knew that when he turned around and Bucky kissed him.

And he returned the kiss, neither stopping until the light filtered into the room through the flimsy shutters of the window and heavy footsteps rang out on the stairs.

They were in positions when Natasha's voice floated through the doorway.

It was time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sugar and milk-I remember that these were heavily rationed during WWII and even if they weren't, they would have been prohibitely expensive for Bucky and Steve. They are still getting used to having these goods about, so hence the importance attached to them.
> 
> Tallinn-Chosen again due to its proximity to Finland and the coast. They can flee easier and also, since it's a tech city and with not as much Soviet/Russian influence, it would be easier to hide in. Also, since they are both relics, it would be the last place to look, more or less.


End file.
